Repetitive Action Syndrome
by Scorn
Summary: After a night out Starsky suffers the effects of a kind of repetititve action, much to Hutch's amusement.


**AN. **Hi guys, if anyone's interested I've not forgotten my other fic, just taken a break to get some things in RL sorted out, but I will be continuing soon… watch this space.

This drabble on the other hand came to me after an unfortunate incident with a friend of mine, so I hope you enjoy more than she did.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, not a single thing; so if you really want to own nothing just because it's mine… I'll fight you all the way  (please don't sue me)

**Repetitive Action Syndrome**

Starsky stretched languidly enjoying the sensation of silk sheets against his bare skin; a faint throbbing at the back of his skull the only remnant of an alcohol fuelled evening leading to a night of passion with the glorious creature stretched out on her side next to him. He reached over and gently ran his hand over her smooth hip, rolled over so he was pressed up against her back and ran his hand down until he was stroking gentle circles around her navel.

"Mmmm" She moaned as his gentle touch brought her round, purposely grinding her body against his muscled torso behind and opening her eyes to stare into his mischievous blue glaze clouded by desire.

"Mornin' Schweetheart. " He leaned in and they kissed passionately; the flames from the night before still burning strongly in both of them. She twisted underneath him, trying to get closer and clutching handfuls of curls as the kiss deepened and their tongues fought for control. His hand reached higher to cup her soft breast and she moaned into his mouth as she felt him, hard against her thigh; wanting him as much as he wanted her.

"Shit!" She pushed him out of the way and scrambled out of bed leaving him to tumble gracelessly into the space her body had occupied only seconds before. He raised his head to stare at the naked whirlwind of a woman frantically running around her apartment so very different from the sensuous creature that had lain in his arms all night, desire still clouding his thoughts.

"What's going on?"

She threw his jeans at him as she struggled into her own clothes, not even bothering to take a shower.

"I'm late for work, very late. Shit!" She stubbed her toe against the bed-frame and hopped around the room clutching her injured foot.

"Look, it's ok, just say you got stuck in traffic or something." Starsky sat up and started searching for the rest of his clothes, not even thinking about trying to squeeze into his tight jeans until certain things resolved themselves slightly.

"No it's not alright, I've got an important client coming in today and I can't afford to miss him. I like you Dave and I'd like to see you again, but we have to get moving. Now!"

"Er, we?" Starsky forced himself into his jeans, being extra careful with the zip and watched as she quickly coiled her mousy hair into a French twist and began applying mascara.

"Yeah, I said I'd give you a lift to the station; we got a cab here remember." She didn't glance away from the mirror: the words becoming slightly garbled as she put on her lipstick.

"Have I got time to grab a quick drink?" His mouth felt unbearably dry and his stomach rumbled hungrily, but he didn't think she'd appreciate him bringing up breakfast right now.

"It'd better be quick, just help yourself." She waved a hand in the general direction of the small kitchen before returning to her cosmetics.

Quickly jamming his feet into his trainers Starsky quickly began investigating her fridge, hoping for a bottle of soda and when that wasn't forthcoming searching the cupboards for some coffee and finding only the most disgusting assortment of herbal teas it had ever been his misfortune to come across. Even Hutch would have had second thoughts about "Lime, Raspberry and Mint infusion".

"Are you ready yet?" Vicky shouted him from the other room, obviously impatient to get going.

"Yeah, I'm on my way." He quickly filled a glass with warm tap water and downed it in three gulps before he could think about how disgusting it was and walked back only to have his jacket thrust at him and be pushed out of the door before he could say a word.

"Here's the key, it's the small blue thingy next to the wall, I'll be down in a second." The overly made-up woman flung a set of car-keys at him, not even bothering to see if he caught them before struggling to lock the door to her apartment

Starsky sighed quietly to himself as he made his way to the front of the building; the day had started with such promise and now he was going to be early for work driven in… the filthiest car he had ever seen. The curly-haired cop grimaced to himself, trying to unlock the door without actually having to touch the car: how could anyone who wore that much makeup thinking it made them more presentable drive around in a heap like this. He opened the passenger door, wiping his hand clean on the leg of his jeans, and went sit down when the smell hit him. The carpets were covered in mud and other street debris, and a fine coating of grime covered just about everything except where buttons had been pushed and fingerprints shone cleanly through; like reverse dusting.

Hoping it was all in his imagination Starsky turned from the car in time to see Vicky running down the steps towards him; precariously balanced in heels the height of foolish fashion.

"What are you waiting for? Get in!"

The courageous street-cop who thought nothing of chasing murderers down dark alleys in the pitch black had to take a deep breath to steel himself before he gingerly climbed into the small car; feeling more in need of a shower now than after their long sweaty night together. He reached across and flicked open her door, trying to come in contact with as few things as possible and held the key out for her as she gracefully slid into the garbage-heap that was her car.

"Well, shut your door!"

"Oh, right, yeah." He mumbled under his breath, trying to postpone the moment when he would be trapped in this hell-hole: he'd never complain about Hutch's car again.

Vicky started the car and pulled out onto the highway without waiting for him to shut the door properly, revving the small engine mercilessly as Starsky scrambled to get it closed, getting more filth on his hands, leaving him wondering if it would be impolite to ask to get out, or even just to wipe his hands clean on his jeans.

The car lurched along the road as he sat there; the, no longer as desirable, creature next to him seemingly unable to keep the car at a certain speed; instead preferring to accelerate harshly for a few seconds and then completely remove her foot from the gas for a few seconds so the car was kangarooing down the road at an average of the correct speed but which in reality gave Starsky the feeling of being at sea in a small boat during a gale; an image his stomach did not thank him for. He clutched, white knuckled at the seat under him, feeling his body break out in a cold sweat and his stomach roil against the motion once more. He no longer cared about the dirt; he just wanted the journey to be over.

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Hutch sauntered into work on time as he invariably was when he didn't have to pick up Starsky or vice versa only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of his dishevelled partner slumped over his desk with his head resting in his loosely folded arms

"Starsk? Are you alright?" He rushed to crouch next to the smaller man, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently.

"Oh God Hutch, it was awful, I was so embarrassed." The muffled voice was soft and for Hutch's ears only as the body seemed to slump even further onto the desk.

"Why? Did something happen last night? Could you not…?" His soft voice was full of sympathy as he tried to imagine what his friend must be going through.

"Not what?" The muffled voice asked confusedly before the curly head shot up and blue eyes stared at Hutch incredulously. "Hell no! Last night was fine, good, great even!"

Hutch, who had jumped back slightly at the sudden movement held out his hands in a placating manner and tried to ignore the irate looks he was getting from his fiery partner.

"I don't understand, so what's the problem?"

The head lowered onto the desk again. "I don't wanna talk about it."

The tall blond moved closer to his partner again and replaced the hand on his shoulder. "Come on babe, you know you can tell me anything."

A deep sigh raised the shoulder under his comforting hand before Starsky muttered something too quiet even for Hutch to hear at his close proximity. "What was that buddy? I couldn't hear you."

"I said I threw-up in Vicky's car."

Just slightly louder Hutch caught every word and burst out laughing with an incredulous "You did what!" which echoed across the room causing heads to turn in their direction.

"Shhhh!" Starsky raised his head to glare at his chuckling partner who had fallen on his butt in his uncontrollable laughter at what Starsky considered to be a very embarrassing situation. "It wasn't my fault…"

"How much did you have to drink last night?" Hutch managed to force out between his chuckles, although thankfully keeping his voice down this time.

Starsky sighed under his breath again, he knew he shouldn't have told his insensitive baboon of a partner, knew he should have kept his humiliation to himself; he was never going to live this down.

"It wasn't that…" he ignored the pointed look the blond sent him, "it was…" he took a breath for courage "it was the way she drove."

He frowned as Hutch burst out laughing again and moved to get up and leave, only stopping when he felt Hutch grab his elbow to hold him in place; the blond having recovered enough to stand and try once more to help his friend.

"Oh jeeze Starsk, I'm sorry but you've got to admit it is kinda funny." He wheezed out between chuckles.

"No, it was utterly humiliating and I wanted to crawl into a hole and die." He dared to glance up into pale blue eyes full of sympathy and concern and chanced telling his partner a bit more of the tale. "I'm just glad I hadn't eaten anything."

Hutch couldn't help himself and was powerless as Starsky wrenched his arm out of his former partners grasp and stormed off to the vending machine, Hutch's guffaws following him down the corridor like evil spirits, evil mortifying spirits.

The candy-machine took much of Starsky's wrath as he impatiently kicked the side of it, waiting for the candy to fall, then snatched it up, angrily tore the wrapper off and took a huge bite of the chocolatey goodness; thinking all the time about the jerk he was forced to work with.

"Starsk?"

Quickly the brunet tried to hide, using the candy-machine as a shield between him and his blond fool of a partner.

"Starsk, I can see you next to the machine." He rounded the corner and stood in front of his shorter friend trying to look conciliatory and failing miserably as his lips continued to curl upwards despite his best efforts to the contrary. "I know I'm being a jerk it's just… hey, I thought you were sick, what're you doing eating that!" He pointed at the half eaten candy in his friend's hand.

"I told you, it wasn't that kind of sick, it was motion sickness." Starsky took another bite to prove his point.

"Starsk I've never seen you get car-sick, in-fact the way you drive I thought it was impossible." Hutch's brow creased in confusion.

"Huh, shows what you know college boy. It was the way she kept to the speed limit, not how fast she was or how sharp she took corners; that don't bother me. It was the way she kind of frog-jumped with the gas."

The crease deepened. "What do you mean?"

Starsky sighed again and frowned a little at his partner, wondering if he was being deliberately dense on purpose. "You know like you or I would press our foot on the gas more or less depending on the speed limit… when we're not chasing someone obviously."

Hutch smirked and nodded, fascinated as to what strange theory his partner had come up with now.

"Well she didn't, she kind of lurched along, slamming her foot on the gas one second then removing it completely the next." Starsky glanced at the confused frown on Hutch's face and continued with his description, trying to make it as clear as possible.

"I don't understand how…"

"It was like being at sea, you know how small boats bob up and down on the waves and when it gets choppy they practically bounce. It was just like that bobbing up and down, up and down, with no real rhythm to it, just this endless up and down random motion, lifting and falling, sometimes twisting slightly like when she took corners, sometimes the force of the acceleration slamming you back so hard you can feel it in the pit of your stomach, only for it to rise again as everything abruptly slows down."

Hutch swallowed harshly against the strange feeling in his throat and felt a cold sweat cover him and his stomach tighten as he listened to his partners description of his awful journey to work. He'd been stuck in a tiny boat once on the lake when a freak storm broke out and the feeling had never left him. The way his stomach tightened, his body was wracked by cold shivers one second, hot flushes the nest. The way his throat had tightened and he'd swallowed desperately trying to relieve the sensation only to be mortified as without any warning he had vomited all over his grandfather. Suddenly he didn't feel like laughing anymore.

Starsky took his partners silence as a sign he should continue with his description. "It was almost like being stuck in a tree when it's stormy and the winds blowing you back and forth and you're swaying madly and getting tossed all over the place and you've got no control and all you can do is hang on and try to ride it out; but the constant lurching makes your stomach tighten and roil, and you break out in a cold sweat and there's this strange feeling in the back of your throat and before you know it…"

He broke off as Hutch roughly pushed past him with one hand clamped over his mouth, and rushed towards the men's room.

"Jeeze Hutch, you could have said if I was boring you." The brunet shouted at the retreating mans back, mumbling about how rude and unfeeling his partner was before eating the last piece of the candy bar. As he walked back to his desk he ran the awful moment in Vicky's car over in his head for the fiftieth time, the look on her face as he regurgitated water all over her dash board, and then again, in a more contained moment, down his own legs. He'd tried to wipe it up with a roll of kitchen towel she'd hastily thrust at him before she pulled over and he told her he could walk to work from there after apologising profusely and exclaiming over how embarrassed he was. She'd told him drunk people had been sick in her car plenty of times before and just raised a disbelieving eyebrow when he said it was motion sickness. In fact he'd wondered to himself how many other of the drunken victims had just been car sick with her terrible lurching driving.

As he sat down at his desk deciding to put the whole incident behind him and never speak to Hutch about it again, he thought that something good had come out of it after all, apart from the night of passion, and although he was sure he'd never see Vicky again, his decision if not hers: at least her car was a bit cleaner now.


End file.
